


Not Love

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-19
Updated: 2004-09-19
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whatever it is, it's not love. For the Wes/Faith ficathon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Love

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Whatever it is, it’s not love or anything close to it. You are very sure of this. When you’re the rogue Slayer just broken out of prison by your broken ex-Watcher to capture Angelus, nothing that happens between you can be considered positive.

You’re not sure if Wesley’s ever forgiven you for the torture or the extreme humiliation that he’d suffered by your hands. You’re not sure if he listens when you speak to him, not sure whether he’s entirely sane anymore. You heard about Lilah; when you joked that Wes wasn’t exactly all together, the skinny girl- Fred- pulled you aside and hissed the whole story in your ear. Yeah, incredibly romantic with a tragic ending, like that English guy who wrote plays… maybe Shakespeare? 

You wonder if she is still lying around in the basement, covered in cold plastic because Wesley hadn’t had the time to bury her yet. So when Wesley is occupied in his plans and pacing up and down the lobby, you slip to the basement door and clamor down the steep steps. The cage looms huge and ominously empty in the corner, a reminder of the task at hand. You take a few more steps and come face to face with the corpse that had once tried to hire you to kill Angel.

Gingerly, you peek under the plastic cover to check on her body. You’re not sure why you came down in the first place, in morbid curiosity, to see her. You’ve seen plenty of dead bodies before. 

But this dead body is different. This is the reason for Wesley’s current mental state. From what you’ve heard, Lilah is responsible for Wesley’s transformation from geeky boy to competent man. Not like he seems especially competent right now, but Gunn grudgingly reassured you that he was. 

And you believe him. Wesley seems to posses something he never had before. He’d tumbled out of a five-story building through a glass window and hit a car, yet he’d not uttered a word in complaint, and handed it very well. When he’d stopped the car to let you practice on the vampires, you’d thought he was taking his revenge, but he was only rousing your powers. This was a man that could possibly teach you, and a man you could possibly respect. And all this was due to some evil lawyer in Gucci that was now stone cold in a basement. 

“Life’s a bitch,” you tell Lilah, gently covering her again and turning to walk back upstairs. Wesley might be done rambling by now and ready to have some action.

~

Riding shotgun in the car with a crossbow heavy in your hands and Wesley’s gun slung across the back seat, you travel in silence. You’ve traveled the streets with Wesley today and tried to find info on Angelus. No such luck; Angelus has been keeping a low profile and you haven’t heard anything. 

You’ve decided that it would be more efficient just to stick with Wesley and not go back to the hotel, so right now you’re headed back to his apartment. You’re looking forward to a nice, unlimited hot shower and your own room.

But as usual, your plans fail. 

“How did Angelus get out in the first place?” you question Wesley. Gunn and Fred had left that piece of information out, and you assumed that he’d gotten laid by Cordy.

Wesley’s back stiffens and he turns to face you.

“We removed his soul. We thought-”

“You took out his soul? Whose stupid idea-”

“I thought that Angelus might know something about the Beast. It was my stupid idea. Anything else you’d like to criticize?” says Wesley, sounding very British and stiff upper lipped.

But at that very second, a look flashes through his eyes; he’s a little boy lost in this big horrible world. You understand what that feels like. You reach out and cup his cheek. Strangely enough, you’re being the sensitive one. 

He slaps your hand away and glares at you.

“Like you’ve never made mistakes?” he asks before grabbing your wrists and pressing himself against you. “At least I can acknowledge that I make them. I’m making one now.”

~

Fast forward to three hours later when you’re lying spent and exhausted in his bed, absently tracing lines on his back. He’s firm and muscular, and it’s a delight to run your hands over his slim chest and feel the power he has. He might not be as strong as you, but you can still respect his strength. 

You run your nails lightly over his back, pressing harder to see the red lines that quickly disappear, like a fading tattoo. 

You remember when you got your tattoo, the way the needle sank into your flesh. You bit down on your lip hard enough to make it bleed. It hurt, but you braved it well, not uttering one cry of pain and grimacing. 

Lost in your memories, you dig your nails into Wesley’s back, remembering the sharp stabs of pain. Wesley grunts and you realize how hard you’ve been pressing. 

“Sorry,” you mutter and pull your hands away.

The red welts on his back don’t fade away.

~

“Wesley, what the hell do you think you’re doing? You just stabbed –”

“A prostitute that lets vampires feed off of her. Not really a valuable part of society.”

“This isn’t you. You’re not like this. What’s wrong with you?”

“Since when would you dare call judgement upon others for doing the same things you’ve done?” Wesley coldly snarls, eyes blazing with anger. 

Words fail you. It’s true, you have no right to chastise him for such things, but you still try. It’s such a shock to see Wesley do such a thing.

“Back in Sunnydale, you wouldn’t have ever done that.”

Wesley whirls around to confront you.

“And why is that, my dear? Because I hadn’t been tied to a chair and experienced the joys of the five basic torture groups.”

“You’re blaming this on me? I thought Lilah was the one who messed you up, man.”

“No, you started it. And Lilah didn’t finish it, Angel did. So don’t preach to me.” Then Wesley, who’s been uncomfortably close the whole time, digs his fingers in your unruly brown waves, crushes your mouth against his and kisses you hard. In the dirty alley, he shoves you against the brick wall and you get down to business.

You both pound out all your fury and frustration on each other, harsh kisses and harder caresses. It’s not love in an alley; it’s hate and rage that can’t be bottled up any longer.

Not love. Never love. You have empathy for him; even though you don’t agree with it, you understand why he did it. Because when push comes to shove and you are at the end of your rope, you turn to violence. Because it’s easier to stab someone and make them bleed instead of bribing and begging or asking nicely. 

Because it’s power.

~

Walking the deserted streets with Wesley by your side days later, it hits you like a hammer against your skull. There’s more to your relationship with Wesley than you thought there was. But no, it’s not love, is it?

After so many days, at all sorts of god-forsaken hours, you develop a sort of camaraderie- you think it’s more than sex and the search for Angelus.

You know that his relationship with Lilah started with no strings attached hot sex, but it quickly metamorphisized from that. It could be the same thing here. Maybe after prison you’re so needy that you’re imagining things, but love makes people do and think crazy things, and you’re no exception.

You’re lagging slightly behind him, so you jog a little to catch up.

“Wesley, hold on a sec. I gotta talk to you.”

Wesley obediently slows down and looks at her. “About what?”

“About us,” you nervously blurt out.

“What about… us?” asks Wesley, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, us,” you say softly, emphasizing that word in a way you know he can’t possibly misunderstand. 

Suddenly Wesley towers over you, tall and intimidating.

“Us,” he sneers. “Faith, there is not ‘us’ other than finding Angelus.”

“I thought, when we, you know-” you stammer. Damn it, he makes you feel so small.

“You’re convenient and these days I’ve learned to use what I find. And if you were fool enough to think it meant anything more than that, then strangely enough, it looks as if prison has softened you.”

His eyes glitter dangerously as he spits his words at her and you anxiously wait for his next words. But he doesn’t say anymore, just stalks away and leaves you thoroughly shaken and embarrassed that you had ever considered such a thing. You’re an idiot for bringing it up and imagining that his affair with Lilah could have been the same as yours.

You try to ignore the hurt in your heart, surprised that it’s even there. But you’re upset, no matter how much you berate yourself, you’d fallen in love with him.

But what did you think would have happened? you ask yourself. That he’d tell you that he felt the same way and then make passionate love to you under the newly returned sun?

You wish you had the knife Mayor Wilkins had given you. You’d use that knife right now and stab yourself in the heart just to stop the pain. But you can pretend you have that knife and you envision it in your hands, it’s weight and texture, the way it fit perfectly into your hand. You imagine sliding it into your feelings and slowly cutting them out, then tossing them into the trash.

“Faith,” he yells from ahead of you. “Get over yourself and let’s get going.”

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply and finish envisioning the last of your feelings being cut out by that lovely knife. Just fight by his side and have emotionless sex. Keep those emotions from regrowing. Live with that emptiness you’ve had since you woke up from that coma. 

Because anything’s better than feeling love for a man you ruined.


End file.
